


Down and Down Into the Ruins I Go, To Lose My Mind and Find My Soul

by ThatDarnLakeSiren



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: (That is a lie this is me venting my experiences onto this smol knight), (yes I’m call the general inhabitants that Ghost interacts with as “crew” yes), Because darnit I want a happuer ending its making me cry and I haven't even finished the game, Crew as Family, Deviates From Canon, Exploration of Suidial Tendencies, Family, Illogically reviving all the canonically dead bgs as I possibly can, Musings of a Wandering Knight, Self-Reflection, Suicidal Thoughts, character exploration, friends - Freeform, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 18:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19751317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDarnLakeSiren/pseuds/ThatDarnLakeSiren
Summary: They say those who wander are not always lost... but Ghost is lost in the worst sense of the word.----------------------Without a name, without memories, urged on by someone else's silent call, the young Vessel struggles to interact with a world that is falling to decay and infection, making friends and finding kin in the unlikeliest of places along the way. And they refuse to let anything take that kin away from them... however unlikely the odds of survival are for all involved.





	1. They Called Out To Me From the Dark Egg, Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To Begin Anew](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375951) by [Zykaben](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/pseuds/Zykaben). 
  * Inspired by [Nos Morituri](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197597) by [ClockworkRainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkRainbow/pseuds/ClockworkRainbow). 
  * Inspired by [Empty Shells](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840684) by [hallowed-vessels (hasbeenhotel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hasbeenhotel/pseuds/hallowed-vessels). 
  * Inspired by [Stag Beetles and Broken Legs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400464) by [Aryashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryashi/pseuds/Aryashi), [relationshipcrimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/relationshipcrimes/pseuds/relationshipcrimes). 



> An interpretation of the game, based largely on my own playthrough. Strap in for the play-by-play that is going to follow.
> 
> 8-6-19 Edit: You have noticed that the warnings changed! Well thays because I looked over the story and realised that things are... getting more intense. Hesitant to add "major character death" but depending jt may change.
> 
> 8-13-19 Edit: So there's no confusion, I've been using in-game dialogue in the more recent chapters, besides writing my own.
> 
> You may have noticed as well, there's a couple more inspirations on here! Each story held elements that intrigued me greatly, or otherwise got me so hyped for the fandom that I got hige bursts of creative energy that pushed me to write more of my own story. Do shout-out to these wonderful creators, and everyone who has kudoed or commented! Thanks guys!
> 
> Another quick note, my computer broke! I'll be trying to write on mobile while I root around for a replacement. Might take me a few weeks, maybe more maybe less. Sorry to y'all!

For time unknown, they wandered the wastes, a silent force made up of mask and cloak and nail. But then, something, an itch beneath their shells, almost a pull, guided them beyond their old circles, and brought them out of the wastes. In time, they found themselves within a small township, but the tug, becoming more akin to an ache, pulled them onwards.

But a cry from behind had them turning, and they walked up to the elderly bug, who spoke to them in earnest, describing the nature of the state of Hallownest, the kingdom that lay beneath the humble (and empty) town of Dirtmouth. How many before had gone below, seeking riches and dreams, how the very air was poisoned with a madness that had drawn in the residents of Dirtmouth, leaving Elderbug the sole occupant of the town.

A growing sense of curiosity drew them further below, down the Well and into what looked to be an old hub of travel. A crossroads, long since abandoned, that lead on in many directions. They moved on, along the paths and through the chambers, slaying all that crossed their path.

The first dead-end they came to contained only an elderly, sobbing caterpillar, head just visibly from the egg-like home he resided in. They wandered too and fro underneath them, but they couldn’t find a way up to them, so they moved on. They could on guess as to what was wrong, but then, they recalled the sorrow of Elderbug, alone in a town that once bustled with life. 

They carried on, and in time, they heard a second voice. Someone was humming, nearby, and before long they came across a trail of papers. This paper trail lead him to another bug, who soon looked up from his humming and writing to speak with him. He spoke of memory and maps, and offered to sell a map to them. 

Without a thought, they agreed, parsing out the appropriate amount of Geo and receiving the map itself. They peered over it, quickly recognizing where they had been before, and seeing where they could go next. 

“It’s not complete, but you can purchase supplies from my wife in Dirtmouth so you can fill it in yourself.” The mapmaker adds, before going back to his drawing. 

They didn’t answer, but continued to journey onwards, using the map to guide them the best they could manage. But, in time, they returned to the surface, ascending the chain and venturing back into Dirtmouth. 

With Geo in greater numbers, they visited the mapmakers’ shop, and spoke with the tall bug inside. She seemed... bored, and maybe annoyed, to see him, but it was difficult for them to make it out. 

She showed him the wares she had to offer, and they purchased a quill, so they could fill out the map, a compass charm so they could know where they are, and some pins so they could mark important places on their map. 

Armed with these, they descended back down into Hallownest. For every enemy fought, place discovered, and bug found, they felt more and more of the mental fog that had claimed them in the wastelands fade away. They could not remember who they had once been, or even what had happened in the wastelands, but Hallownest was awakening them, allowing them to think and feel for the first time in an age. 

They felt hollow, without memories, without a sense of self, but for now focused on making new ones. By exploring, and fighting, forever trying to travel and wander onwards.


	2. Undergrowthe Overgrown, In Which The Red One Hunts Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank Zykaben for being my first commenter, and for sparking my inspiration into overdrive. 
> 
> I mean seriously, this went from, what, five hundred words to three thousand in just one chapter?! Like wow, just sat down and wrote it all out in one go. Just, wow, I’m surprised myself. So thanks, friend!
> 
> Comments are love and love makes new chapters! Enjoy!

Swish. Clang. Swish, clang, slam!

Round and round, they chased their oversized silver adversary, dodging strike of hardened club and striking back in equal measure when that great shell opened to reveal the squishy insides of the False Knight. Until, at last, their foe lay dead, a tiny creature inhabiting a metal armor far too great for it.

They inspected the shell, and then the area, gathering what Geo and the odd shiny trinket they found here and there, everywhere. There were strange relics to be found, everywhere, it seemed, though they could not gauge the value of them. Regardless, they kept moving, only ceasing to move to rest upon a bench and update their map. 

And, thusly, onwards... until they came upon a strange structure indeed. It was large and grand, dark in color, nigh, pitch-black even. Curiosity, that strange bright feeling, rose up with a vengeance; they could do nothing but journey inside. 

Within, the building swept out, high vaulted ceilings that they could not see from where they stood, even as they craned back their head to try. And, further within, was what they first took for a smaller structure, almost... an egg? An egg that had been been smashed or peeled back, possibly both, from within, only to be stamped back over in supple wax and dried, in a fashion, with three white markings pressed up into them. 

And, standing before it all, was a bug, a mask on their head and hand on their chin. They bore not the constant swaying of the husks outside, but they still approached with caution, hand on their nail should this bug turn out to be hostile. However, they were surprised when the bug turned, smiled at them, and began to speak. 

So great their surprise, they hardly heard a word that the bug, Quirrel, spoke. Something about wandering and exploration, of learning, perhaps? They found they could agree, and distantly felt like agreeing when Quirrel spoke of running into them again, deeper within the ruins of Hallownest. 

But they could not speak. They could understand well enough, even if certain words and their exact meanings escaped them, but they physically couldn’t reply. Slightly troubled, but not terribly so, they continued onwards.

Deeper beneath the False Knights keep, they found the ruins of a village. Fighting off the husks outside, they discovered a bug within one of the rotting homes. They were mumbling to themselves, something about... others? They couldn’t be sure. Wary of attack, they crept closer, and were surprised when an orange dusting in the bug’s eyes cleared up. 

The bug, Sly, turned to speak to them, confused it seemed with where they were, but that confusion cleared quickly. Sly spoke of selling special wares, ‘Charms’ and the like, back up in Dirtmouth. After, he left. And so did they, moving to the village’s edge.

They could hear a voice, and see a hint of colored light. There was a person, somewhere up beyond that ledge. But it was too high for them to jump too, and their tiny claws were unable to get a grip on the side to climb it. Vaguely, they felt annoyance, the sense of curiosity in them rankling at this newfound obstacle that kept them from exploring. 

Silently vowing to find a way up at a later date, they continued onwards.

Slowly working their way back up, they come across a tunnel that was dim and dark. They could hardly see, and when they dared to tiptoe in, something went scuttling above them; they paused, and recoiled in pain and surprise when something struck them from above. They were so startled they ran out of there, unwilling to fight anything in the dark. 

Back in the lighted tunnels, they paused to look back, ensuring nothing was following after them. They let out a silent breath, and straightened themselves out. They were safe... regaining their bearings, they chose a different route... and found themselves in a lit mine full of purple crystals. 

They paused, staring in awe, but then a noise caught their attention. They grasped their nail, and slowly approached... there was a steady noise of metal hitting crystal. And... a voice? Only one voice, but it moved with rhythm, rising and falling slightly... it was, nice. 

Relaxing slightly, they moved deeper into the mines, and peered down to spot a bug, wielding a pickaxe and wearing a hat with a lantern fixed to it. She was still speaking in that strange manner, but they still weren’t sure that it was wholly safe until they jumped down and moved to greet her...

She paused and turned to greet them, stuttering over herself, but they were friendly and certainly not a husk. Myla was her name—and they were beginning to realize that they had none—and she was seeking riches down below. The strange method of speaking was, apparently, something called singing...

They weren’t entirely sure what ‘singing’ was good for, but they rather liked it. It sounded nice, and Myla seemed grateful that they liked her song as well, even though she admitted to not remembering it all. They silently promised to return to listen to her sing, and left her to her work, carrying on with his own exploration. 

They checked most other routes, re-affirming what they had written on their map with where they had been, and decided to check out a path near the elderly caterpillars home. Unlike the dusty, abandoned feeling of the Forgotten Crossroads, the beginning of this new path had been laden with plantlife of a kind they had never seen before.

Green, leafy growths, but the path had been guarded by a large, armored creature... but since defeating the False Knight and meeting a strange individual that had no carapace but had a snails shell on their head for protection, they had a new trick under their cloak. And they knew it would work, because the shaman snail had asked them to defeat a similar beast that lay lurking in the mask-strewn temple.

Approaching the creature now, they defeated it with ease, and ventured into the area beyond. Greenpath, they believed the sign had deemed it. And indeed, the place was bursting at the seams with plants, green, leafy plants, the place so alive with the stuff, scrambling for a roothold at every opportunity.

But with this new area to explore, came new dangers. The first beast, garbed in shrubbery, to charge at them got a clean blow in, so was their surprise. They cut it down quickly enough, healed with the garnered soul, and carried on, remaining far more vigilant of their surroundings. 

An annoyance soon showed itself to them; pulling out their map, and realizing they had no primer reference of this area. Then, they remember Cornifer the mapmaker, as well as the papertrail and distinctive voice, humming away as he worked, that had lead them to the mapmaker in the first place. 

They already knew that Cornifer was set on mapping all of Hallownest; they could only hope they would meet the mapmaker during their travels. And if not, they could climb back up to Dirtmouth, and speak with the mapmakers wife, Iselda they believed, and purchase an old map from her.

But then, something quite mysterious occurred. As they traveled, they spotted a tall, red-clothed bug, who’s head blended into horns. She appraised them from a distance, perched upon a higher ledge, and sprinted away when they approached. Curiosity wormed in, stronger than before, into intrigue. For so far every bug that still had their minds had been friendly with them, so maybe, this one was merely wary of them?

With another silent promise to prove themselves friendly, they carried on, descending deeper into this realm of plants. In time, their silent resolve and steadfast patient was both rewarded and tested time and time again. For every pathway or notable place they found, two more would be inaccessible to them. They could neither jump far enough nor climb to reach some of these pathways, and were thusly forced to settle on promises to try later on.

However, in time their patience was in turn rewarded. They found Cornifer and obtained a map, and not long after they found a strange place after following a series of signposts that guided the way.

Within was a bench, and a signpost holding a bulky metal box atop. Beyond this was a slight drop with a well-worn path, a contrast to the stone floor they stood upon. The inscriptions on the box spoke of a toll, and asked Geo of them to... they didn’t know, but were curious, and so gave it the Geo as directed, pressed into a tiny slot. 

The box and pole abruptly shot into the floor; startled, they stood back, as a different pole returned, holding nothing but a brass bell. Strange. Struck by impulse, they struck the bell with the flat of their nail; it rang out, clear and brisk and calling... and down the tunnels came running, a great large bug with padded seats strapped to their thorax. 

They skid to halt along the trail, chuffing and waiting patiently. Intrigued, they jumped down, and the bug, calling themselves The Last Stag, answered their silent questions. 

They described the Stagways and Stag-Stations of old, bustling with other stags and travelers riding them. They promised that, should they ring the bell at any stag station, they would heed the call, and help them along wherever they wished to go. Deciding to act on this sooner rather than later, they hopped back up onto the platform, but paused. 

Without a voice, how could they communicate where they wanted to go. Uncertain, they drew their sword and slammed it into the bell, garnering the Last Stag’s attention. The great old bug turned to look at them, and thinking fast, they pointed at one of the signs overhead. 

“Dirtmouth, is it?” The old stag rumbled. They nodded, “Not much for talkin’, I take it?” They shook their head no. “No matter then. I will take you where you wish.” 

The trip back was quick, quicker than they could have anticipated. Moving through Dirtmouth’s stag station, they found a short elevator back to the surface, and looked around; they were locked in. But they quickly noticed a switch, and upon striking it, the door opened... they wandered out, and found that the stag station building was right beside the map-makers shop. 

Elderbug stared at them in wonder, so they wandered over to say hello. The elderly bug rambled on for a minute or two about the station having been closed since before he was around, as well as some talk of Greenpath, and... caverns filled with mushrooms somewhere near it. A place to explore, apparently, the only deterrent being the noxious smell. 

They weren’t quite sure what Elderbug meant by the smell of the place, uncertain if it was some creature or bug he was meant to be wary of, and decided they’d deal it when they came across it. For now, however... they visited the map-makers shop, and found, to their delight, that they had new pins. 

Small colorful circles they could place on their map, with markings that drew the eyes straight towards a place of interest. Benches, to rest and sort through their charms and inventory, hot springs, stag stations, and those rare few bugs and vendors that decided they preferred the ruins of Hallownest below to the safer dwellings of Dirtmouth above. 

Their spirits lifted, they descended below, requesting the Last Stag’s assistance in making their way back to Greenpath.

From there, they wandered here there and everywhere; a place full of floating jellyfish, passive but bearing explosive inner cores when struck. They wandered a short distance but hit an obstacle in the form of a strange black barrier. They could find no way around, and eventually had to turn back, another silent promise hanging over that strange black force. 

Moving through Greenpath once more, they spotted her; that red-cloaked bug. She stared at him, running whenever he approached. As they navigated the twists and turns, they found themselves in an area that reminded them more of the Forgotten Crossroads than the terrain of Greenpath. 

The area having an air of abandonment, falling apart due to a lack of maintenance and upkeep, where Greenpath was overgrown and bursting with flora—and fauna that occasionally looked more like flora—that scrambled over every available inch, shoving apart bricks and encasing pillars, eating away or squeezing it until something gave and it all collapsed into the acidic pools positioned below. 

They themselves shuddered at the thought; they’d fallen victim to those pools more than once, and had been forced to scramble back up, pain eating away at their dark body and false cloak. They were never as poorly off as they believed, and with a little Soul they healed up well enough. 

But once was more than enough of a lesson to know to avoid these pools, so slipping within by mistake, whether by misjudging how far they had to leap or being pushed in by a beast of fauna sent annoyance and panic fluttering within them, like a Lumafly caught in their chest. 

So lost in thought were they, they almost missed the buzzing and faint cries of distress and indignant shouting. But, they noticed, and soon found quite the large flying beastie, much larger than the littler ones who pursued them so thoroughly and endlessly. 

And caught in it’s mandibles, was a bug! A bug with a similar mask to their own, but with irregular horns and a mouth with which to cry out for help with. 

They didn’t hesitate, immediately striking out against the large beast with their nail. The battle was brief, especially compared to that of the Gruzz Mother and certain guard husks, but throughout it, the stranger bug lay unconscious. After, they were not greeted with thanks but with a gruff old warrior, calling himself Zote the Mighty. 

But while Zote claimed to have had things under control, and scolded them for intervening, they did not care too much. They were a little confused as to why this grumbling warrior was complaining, when they had so clearly needed assistance, but they could not figure it out. 

When Zote finished his indignant spiel and left, muttering about resting in Dirtmouth, they moved on, trusting Zote to be able to make it back alone. 

And as they went, the finally found the red-dressed bug, through a strange clearing decorated in designs that they had first taken as natural markings... or rather hadn’t noticed to begin with, so focused were they on finding the red-dressed bug that they simply hadn’t noticed at all.

However, when they got inside, they saw a sight that gave them pause; a bug of similar size and appearance lay to the side of the clearing before the red-dressed bug, a nail struck through their chest. It was not there’d-dressed bug’s nail; hers lay in her hand, long and straight and threaded with string through a hole at the end.

Still, they tried to give them the benefit of a doubt, and jumped down... and she cried out at them, fierce and strong in her stance, brandishing her needle at them. Her words echoed in their mind, sending them reeling and allowing her to strike them twice before they responded back. 

_“Come no closer, **ghost**._

“I've seen you, creeping through the undergrowth, stalking me.

“This old kingdom... A terrible thing awakens. I can smell it in the air...

_“I **know** what you are. I know what you'd try to do. **I can't allow it**...”_

She knew them. She _knew_ them. The shock of this revelation allowed her to defeat them... darkness had hovered at the edges of their vision as black ichor leaked from them, clouding the air; breathing became a chore, leaving them gasping for it, pain inching in on them and making their movements more cautious, then more desperate as they scrambled to escape the edge of her blade. 

They could not escape it... it struck true, and the darkness surged in on them, robbing them of sight and feeling, removing the pain as it removed them from where they stood...

They awoke, upon the bench they’d last rested upon, at the entrance to Greenpath. They checked themselves, and found they still had their nail and map, and the charms they had collected. But all their Geo was gone, and they felt that their ability to collect Soul had been weakened as well. 

They remembered the fight with the red-dressed bug too-well for it to have been a dream... perhaps this was some forgotten ability of theirs, to be able to return unharmed to where they last take a rest? It was something they would have to later test to be certain, but they could feel, somehow, that it would be useful. 

Remembering the red-dressed bugs’ words, the felt themselves fill with a fresh resolve; they _would_ beat her in combat, and then they would ask her what she knew of them. They may not possess a voice, but they would find a way to get the message across.

But with this resolve, came confusion as well; what did she think they would do? If there was something “terrible” awakening in Hallownest... couldn’t they do something about it? Stop it, or help stop it? They didn’t know the answer. Yet another thing they knew nothing of...

* * *

Hornet felt a flare or triumph rise up as The Knight fell to her blade. But as their cracked mask clattered to the ground, a shadowed thing with glaring white eyes rose from where they had been felled, stretching out and overtaking the hollow things form. 

It drifted up, towards the narrow path The Knight had first taken, without even a glance at her. And she knew, then, that stopping this Knight from bringing everything down on everyone’s heads was going to be much harder than she had initially thought... 


	3. Unrelenting, We Seek the Answers of Our Past From Those Who Wish to Harm Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I went through, fixed some things and added other things that I felt were important. Enjoy!

They stared at the dark apparition, and it stared back at them impassively, with eyes that glowed. They didn’t know what to make of it, for while it had the vague impression of a bug, it floated without wings. There was a sense of unease, unrest, around this lingering spectre...

Gripping their nail, they approached, and when they’d gotten closer, the spectre drifted towards them. They backed up slightly, feeling a distinct sense of... desperation, panic, an image of swiping blades, a needle stabbing into them, pain biting at their body until ichor black puffed into the air and breathing became difficult and—

The shadowy bug swiped at them with a nail (a shadowed rendition of _their_ nail), and they barely dodged in time. They jumped back from the next swing, more prepared, but were caught off guard as it flared out its arms and shot a burst of the same spell the Snail Shaman had gifted them. 

They took the hit head-on, but quickly dodged aside and struck the strange apparition with their nail. The shadow creature recoiled, and they struck it again, causing it to fall apart into inky black clouds... clouds that rushed towards them. They held up their arms, protecting their face, but the inky stuff surged on them, merging with their body, and... they felt, better. Their ability to hold Soul was restored to full capacity. 

They checked over themselves, and then checked their inventory. To their happy surprise, all the Geo they had collected and lost had been returned to them. They still weren’t sure what the strange apparition was, but it was likely, no, undoubtedly connected to them. It reflected their fight with the red-dressed bug, the memories and sensation lingering like a stain on their mind until they defeated it. They would have to look into this more... later.

For now, the red-dressed bug waited in the clearing beyond, and she held the answers of their identity. They had only to defeat her in combat, then find a way to demand some answers.

Simple... until it wasn't. 

They were defeated again and again, forced back to the bench and forced to fight the shadowed apparition again and again, as well. It was growing tedious, but they didn't stop trying. Something that emboldened them was the fact that, the red-dressed bug was prone to panic, as well; as they struck her over and over, dodging (most) of her attacks, she began to attack more and more fiercely, her movements swift, hurried... she was growing scared, desperate like they had, when pitted against her needle.

Until, at last, she stood there, bent over and panting. Before they could move towards her, lower their nail, offer a hand or a trinket, she turned, flung her needle, and sprung away using the thread attached. 

They stared; no... _**No!**_ _Come back!_

The cry rang out in their head, but didn't enter the air, calling the red-dressed bug back to the clearing. They could only stare, helpless, and silently sigh. They had made sure, so sure, not to wound her badly. Nor struck anywhere potentially fatal, in a show of good faith, despite her not returning the favor.

They didn't want to kill her. They just wanted answers. They wanted...

What _did_ they want?

They paused. Thought about it. Thought about all they'd done since exiting the wastes, and entering Dirthmouth and Hallownest. They had explored, and fought, and listened to any bug that wasnt infected tell their stories. Bits and pieces of who they were filtered through the interactions, the words. And with each, they learned a Name with which to call them by. Something that, when put out into the air, would have their heads turning towards the caller to greet them.

Elderbug, Quirrel, Myla, Sly, The Last Stag, The Red-Dressed Bug, Zote the Mighty... each had a unique sound or series of sounds for others to call them by; title to the story of their lives, interactions, however brief, allowing details to shift and register. How they spoke and acted, what they told them, all of it hinted at a greater story, one they themselves were hungry to learn.

Was it the lack of memories to their... name? And their lack of name at all, that drove them to so hungrily drink in all the words of others in this kingdom? Allowing their words to fill the empty space of their head with borrowed memories, borrowed history, since they lacked any? Or at least, any they could recall (A voiceless wandering warrior; nothing more than a deadly force made up of mask and nail and false cloak. No sense of self, no story, no name for others to call to them with).

And what had drawn them out of the wastes, and into Hallownest? An itch, a tug, beneath their carapace, they recalled (Something else, someone else, reaching for them, calling a name they couldn’t recall, calling them without a sound to Hallownest).

What compelled them to fight anything stained with orange (anything that acted hostile), yet guided them to listen raptly to those who did not raise hand or nail to fight? Such foreign things they couldn’t recall, things like _curiosity_ and _frustration_ , _panic_ and _satisfaction_ , all these... emotions, wasn’t it? But was there a reason these things... felt so foreign?

They didn't know. But the want, the _need_ for answers burned at them, itching beneath their carapace. And with it came a certainty and promise all in one; they'd unlock the secrets of their past, and learn who they'd been, and find their name.

Starting with the Red-Dressed Bug, their only lead at the moment. She said she knew them, speaking with such certainty that it could be nothing but the truth. They'd have to find her and find some way to communicate their thoughts to her. Hope to avoid her needle and thread in the future as well. And find answers for themselves. 

With a clear goal in mind, they turned their attention on the clearing...

And were reminded, quite suddenly, of the similiar-looking bug with a nail in their chest, laying limp, leaned awkwardly against one of many towering stones. From mask to cloak, they looked... achingly similiar to themselves. What were they doing here? Did the Red-Dressed Bug kill them? Or had they... taken their own life? They weren't sure...

Examining the dead bug closer, they found that the cloak about them was loose. Pulling gently, they held up the false cloaks up, examining them. Wordless, thoughtless, they swung it about their shoulders. They could... almost sense the power of this cloak. Following their instincts, they jumped as high as they could, and--

_“Would it seek to break the Seals?_

_“They cannot be undone._

_“They **must** be undone._

_“Let us sleep little shadow._

_“Return to your darkness.”_

Three... presences, looming figures similar to bugs, came to life within the clearing. They... were speaking, but not in the open air. Instead, the words drifted through their very mind; they clutched their hand, dropping their nail, but they couldn’t force the words from their head.

A pressure bore down on their head; darkness swarmed their vision, and they fought against it, overwhelmed and confused. No other wounds lay upon their body, nor were they anywhere safe, like resting upon a bench; this was no time for sleep! It wasn’t safe! **No!!!!**

And yet... they found themselves awaking upon the floor of the clearing, disoriented. The strange trio were gone. The body of the similar-looking stranger still lay in the clearing. The Red-Dressed Bug was nowhere to be seen. 

They were left with many more questions than answers... who were those three? What did they mean by Seals, that could not but had to be undone? Why did they demand to allow them to sleep, when they had done nothing to disturb them? And what did they mean, ‘your darkness’? They didn’t particularly care for the dark, and they had no recollection of anywhere dark that they took refuge in. 

The trio of mind-speaking strangers knew them, just like the Red-Dressed Bug. They now had three more leads to track down, if they were going to figure out who they were. 

Quite suddenly, they recalled the false cloak slung around their shoulders. They tugged at it, and found it fit well; it felt, strange, however. Made of some strange material... compelled by an inkling of an idea, they shifted, jumped as high as they could, and—

 _Dash!_ They swept through the air, very nearly slamming into the wall, but a thrill of excitement and realization shot through them. They tried it again, and again, confirming how far their newfound reach was. Their mind was already bursting with images, of places they'd seen before but couldn't reach, until now.

Then, they remembered, and turned to the dead bug. They didn't know what to do, nor why this felt... different, considering they'd gotten things from both the dead and the living before. (They had no knowledge of graveyards, rituals to honor the dead, nothing). They couldn't pinpoint the feeling that was rising up as they gazed upon the dead bug, so they left.

* * *

They spotted the tall bug from across the acidic pool, perched on the ledge above. They were standing straight, eyes clear of orange, focused and watchful. No infection. Emboldened and eager to meet someone new, they jumped across... 

Pain lanced through them as the strange big struck with clawed forearms, sending them tumbling into the acid below. They managed to get out, but they didn't approach immediately after, feeling hurt, betrayed, by this stranger. They silently berated themselves for their lack of caution, for their idiocy...

So far the Fungal Wastes had been simple to travel through but annoying nonetheless. Its acidic pools and inhabitants spitting orange gasses made the whole thing tedious, and they were at the end of their rope. Still, the soldiered on, until they reached... wherever this place was. 

There were tall, four-legged bugs with long, sharp talons, or wings and sharp stingers on their abdomens. Thanks to a journal they had gotten from this ‘Hunter’ fellow in Greenpath some time before, they could name these beasts as the Mantis. And due to the increasing numbers of them, they guessed this must be some sort of town of them. 

Their suspicions were quickly proven correct; the further they went, the more Mantis there were within different bug-made dwellings, and each Mantic aggressive upon approach. They didn’t understand what the issue was. Was it their nail? They could hardly leave it behind, and besides, they’d approached without it in hand when the first of Mantiskin they encountered had attacked them!

By the time they’d made it into the village, they were pretty tired of fighting... however, they found something that bolstered their spirits. An item carved of bone, found within one of dwellings. The claws resembled the Mantis’ sharp forelimbs, and with them, they could cling to sheer slopes and climb upwards.

This opened so many shortcuts and new places to explore, that their spirits lifted pretty quickly... however, they were shot down pretty fast as they continued on into the village, only to encounter three Mantis’ seated on tall chairs, overlooking a clear space boxed in on all sides. 

Their gazes bore into the wanderer, taking in their small stature and nigh-broken nail. They seemed to whisper among themselves, but they couldn’t make out the words. But the air was laced with a tension, and each bore a weapon, unlike their fellows guarding the village.

Sensing the call to battle, they brandished their sword, silently crying out for a fight. And, a fight they got!

...and quickly lost, time and time again. The Mantis’ were too quick, and fresh wounds built up on older ones until they were defeated, and sent back to the last bench they had visited. They tried again, and in the process, slowly became a master of dealing with the Mantiskin, but the three Mantis’ in their arena continued to beat them. 

Frustrated and fed up with it all, they finally ceased their efforts, and instead ascended using the Mantis Claws, taking off to explore new areas. A silent promise, bearing that they would return, and defeat the Mantis Lords once and for all... 


	4. Of Lumafly Lanterns, Crystals and Dreams

Returning to Dirtmouth, they found something new. The bug they had rescued in a rotting town below the False Knights keep, Sly, had set up shop in Dirtmouth. Venturing in, the new shopkeeper greeted them, and showed them their wares. 

Out of curiosity, they bought a rancid egg, apparently laid by some creature while Sly was away in the ruins of Hallownest. It... didn’t do much, but they decided to hang onto it for now. 

Sly also offered some charms, pieces of Mask and Soul Containers, as well as Charms they could pin to their false cloaks, and lastly... an item called a Lumafly Lantern. Inside a small glass globe supported by thin metal tendrils, was a tiny, fluttering lumafly. A creature that could light the way in the darkness.

It sold for a very high price, but they all but slammed the Geo necessary down on the counter, eagerly reaching for the lantern. Sly snapped at them, simultaneously pulling the lantern away while pushing them back. Annoyed, they stepped back, unable to comprehend what the matter was; they’d matched Sly’s price, and without complaint.

The shopkeep glared at them a moment, and once assured they weren’t going to make a mad grab for the lantern again, counted out the Geo on his counter, muttering under his breath. Something about making sure it was all there. Which, it was. Muttering to themselves, Sly handed the Lantern over, 

“I don’t know how you counted it out to the last Geo, but don’t get grabby in the future!” He warns, wagging their finger at them. “Next time I’ll strike you down myself if you try to shortchange me!” 

They stared a long moment, uncertain how to respond, but dipped their head down, staring at the lantern in their hands. Sly seemed to take it as an answer, and dipped his head too... he bobbed it twice, satisfied with his silent customers response. 

“Good. Now if you have nothing else you want to purchase,” he waved his hand at them, shooing them from the store. 

They took the hint, and left; their wasn’t anything else they wanted here, anyway.

* * *

The Crystal Peak stretched up into the sky, full of danger and frustration that quickly dimmed the beauty of the place. The creature’s they were forced to fight often created sharp, spiny growths of crystal, making the terrain more treacherous as they struggled to strike them with their nail.

Further adding to this, they’d spotted Myla; she had managed to make it further into the mines! Or, so they had thought. They had jumped down to greet her, only to be met with a bone-pick to the face and aggression from the miner; so similar in appearance, but different from Myla. 

They retreated, and found the orange-filled miner ceased their attack when they were far enough away. Now (relatively) safe, they took a breather, and berated themselves; Myla was always singing and humming, whenever they’d stopped by for a visit. _This_ miner had not spoken a word, only huffed with the effort it took to swing their bone-pick at them.

Shaking their head, they continued onwards... in time, they came to a bench, but from there, they quickly realized they were lost. The mines of Crystal Peak were a maze, and much of it was dark; their Lumafly Lantern could only illuminate so much. It was a long, tedious, frustrating period with a lot of trial and error and being sent back to the bench and fighting their shadow-self.

But, at long last, they made it through. along the way, they spoke with Quirrel, and bought a map from Cornifer, and discovered a shortcut back down to Dirtmouth. However, as they pushed on through the Peak, they fell...

Now, falling was of little consequence for them; the impact with the ground occasionally jolted them but it caused no damage (unless there were spikes or acid at the bottom). 

However, they had been trying to reach a ledge, decorated with torches and other things, things that spoke of a bug actively dwelling here. They had jumped out as far as they could and dashed, but they still fell short... They didn’t know where they were, nor how to get back up. In fact, there _wasn’t_ a way back up. Not the way they had come. With no other option but to keep going, and hope to find a way out, they carried on. 

In time, they found... something strange. A tablet inscribed with words, with three figures surrounding it. The three figures... their masks were very much alike the strange markings on the door to the strange temple in the Forgotten Crossroads. They must be one and the same... who were these three?

They moved to inspect the tablet, but started when barriers of white magic surrounded the dais everything was perched on. They paced back and forth, for just a moment, confused, but they couldn’t get out. They looked over the tablet, 

**-}~=~=~{-**

**TO PROTECT THE VESSEL, THE DREAMERS LAY SLEEPING**

_Monomon the Teacher  
In her Archive, surrounded by fog and mist_

_Lurien the Watcher  
In his spire, looking over the city_

_Herrah the Beast  
_ _In her Den, amidst the darkness beyond the kingdom_

**THROUGH THEIR DEVOTION, HALLOWNEST STANDS ETERNAL**

**-}~=~=~{-**

A great pressure forced itself upon their body, pushing them to their knees as wheels of yellow-white spun through the air.

 _“_ **_Go no further, little shadow.”_ **

...!!! This! These were the three from the clearing!! They tilted their head slightly, not fighting the flow of words that entered their head, drinking them in hungrily.

_“What compels its climb out of the darkness? What compels its return to this sacred kingdom?”_

Darkness? What did they mean? As for what compelled them...

_“A call from beyond the Seals?_

_“By the Vessel, or by that captive light?”_

Vessel? Captive light? Their hand went to their Lumafly Lantern, briefly... but they doubted almost immediately. No, the itch in their shell and tug that had urged them out of the Wastes was far stronger than anything a tiny, wordless lumafly could have ever mustered. No, these three meant someone or some _thing_ else.

_“Would the Seals break?_

_“They cannot be undone._

_“But the Vessel weakens.”_

The Vessel? Who or what is this Vessel? What is weakening it? And what did these voices mean by ‘Seals’??? This wasn’t the first time they’d mentioned them...

_“That plague springs anew.”_

Plague? What did they mean by that...?

_“They must be undone._

_“Yet still our Seals remain._

_“Our duty holds._

_“It must be cast away._

_“Our duty holds. It shall be done.”_

So many conflicting voices, conflicting viewpoints... not-quite clamoring over one another, but they were growing overwhelmed quite quickly...

_“Fade away, little shadow.”_

Again, these three call them ‘little shadow’... their mind turned toward the shadow-self that arose whenever they were too badly hurt, and awoke upon a bench. The Hunter’s Journal referred to it as a ‘Shade’; a sort of stain made of regrets, that everyone leaves upon the world when they die... 

But, they didn’t want to fade away. Something about the (Command? Request? Suggestion???)... felt ominous, though they couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. An image of the similar bug, who’s Mothwing Cloak they had taken from their lifeless form, sprung into their head. Had they... faded? From this life? But... what did that _mean_ —

_“ **Fade away, and let us sleep in peace.** ”_

What? What?! An unbearable pressure rushed in on their body as the three appeared one by one, floating, see-through, ethereal, forcing them off the ground as darkness swamped over them. The attack—if it was an attack—came out of nowhere, just like in the clearing before... but this time, they awoke in a strange, glowing place. 

They were stuck, on a small patch of land. Long quills poked from the ground like the stalks of plants, and wheels big and small drifted everywhere. They paced back and forth, confused, and started when a glowing, winged form suddenly sparked into being. 

It darted off, and they gave chase, jumping along platforms that came from nowhere and hovered in midair. This place... didn’t make any sense, but they had no idea what was going on or where they were. And if any answers could be gleaned by the strange thing they’d seen, they had to follow it.

Eventually they came to a solid piece of land, where the glowing, winged figure hovered about a stone statue of a moth. 

“ _What a terrible fate they've visited upon you._ _To cast you away into this space between body and soul. Will you accept their judgement and fade slowly away?_

_“Or will you take the weapon before you, and cut your way out of this sad, forgotten dream?”_

They spoke softly, the words flowing smoothly through their head, before vanishing entirely.

The silent cry of, _No, come back!_ had hardly entered their thoughts when a strange item appeared quite suddenly before the moth statue. 

They moved to inspect it; a handle bearing a small webbed wheel, not to dissimilar to all the wheels floating about. They picked it up, and held it to the light; it bore a glowing edge across it, like a magical blade, and then—

Everything swamped them, the swirling wheels as something tugged right at their core, darkness flickering over them again... but then, they awoke, something strangely soft beneath their mask and body. 

Slowly, they pushed themselves up, and... were met with a moth...

She called herself the Seer, and told them that she had been watching over them while they slept. 

The Seer went on to explain,

“Those figures, those Dreamers... they reached out with what little power they still have and dragged you into that hidden place. But that talisman you now wield, the Dream Nail... it can cut through the veil that separates the waking world from our dreams. Even the Dreamers themselves can not hide from such a weapon.”

The Dreamers... those three that knew them, but apparently, they didn’t want them here... wanted them to fade... but still, they knew them. They had to find them, they had to learn more... and with this Dream Nail, they had a weapon with which to use against them in combat.

“Though I must admit, that sacred blade has dulled over time. Together perhaps, we can restore its power. You only have to bring me Essence. Essence... the precious fragments of light that dreams are made of. Collect it wherever you find it, and bring it to me. Once we have enough, we can work wonders together.

“Go out into the world, Wielder. Hunt down the Essence that lingers there!”

Essence... was made of fragments of light? Which in itself made up... dreams? Well... alright then. Apparently, there was some magic or power to dreams, or it was its own place... they weren’t sure, but there was definitely some magic to this. And, now, it was a magic they could wield as well.

Now... who were the Dreamers? They’d seen the plaque, and seen the mark of their masks upon the Black Egg Temple... place, in the Forgotten Crossroads. Accordingly to the Seer, the Dreamers, too, had power about them, and had turned that power onto them. 

But to what end? Why entrap them, or command them to fade away? Maybe it had something to do with the Seals... the Dreamers must hold some connection to the Seals, and this so-called Vessel. Whatever the Vessel was, it was definitely located within the Black Egg Temple above.

They resolved to solve this mystery, but first things first... it seemed like the only way to solve this mystery, was with this new device the Seer had gifted them with; the Dream Nail. 

Their first experience with the Dream Nail came in the form of a tiny glowing tree-resembling root. Its branches curled in on itself, bearing tiny wheels. Charging the Dream Nails’ power, they struck out against it, and stared in surprise as more red wheels sprung up and flew away. 

All around them, on the incomplete stone walkways and balconies, were the glowing red wheels; more wheels, golden-white, spun around them, but they faded in and out of sight and did nothing when they tried to interact with them. Approaching one of the red wheels, they swiped at it with their nail, then their Dream Nail, but nothing.

However, physically interacting with the wheels caused them to be absorbed into the Dream Nail itself. Which sent them running, dashing, and slamming into these wheels, searching high and low for more of them. After collecting the last one, the intangible wheels faded away entirely.

Satisfied with this result, they figured that the ‘fragments of light that make up dreams’ must be those strange roots. If they looked around for more of them through Hallownest, they’d certainly find them. However, as they journeyed deeper beneath the Seer’s home, they were met with something quite peculiar.

A bug, vaguely translucent in appearance, was hovering before some sort of stone engraving. When they looked closer, they realized there were small wheels of dreams spawning off of the strange bug, as well. 

They approached and tilted their head up to look at them, and the strange bug, introducing themselves as Xero, went into a spiel about... fighting against plague and king, that he sought his dreams by using his strength alone, and was struck down for it? That he awoke here, and realized that hope brings little but doom to those who use it. 

_”Do you still hope, wanderer? Will you flee? Or will you raise your weapon and doom us both?”_

They didn’t understand what Xero meant. They didn’t understand what this ‘hope’ thing was, whether it was... object or concept or emotion or weapon. But to raise their weapon... Xero was challenging them to a fight. Well... if the dream-bug wanted a fight, then he could have a fight.

They struck out against Xero with their nail, but little happened. Xero watched them, impassively, and they tried again, but this time, used their Dream Nail instead. 

The following fight was new, and strange, compared to most. Xero had two nails, each floating at his side, and sent them flying at them as he pleased. They had to run about and dodge his blades, whilst striking back with his nail, over and over again. Finally, Xero stayed his blades, admitting defeat.

They put their nail on their back and approached the dream-bug warrior, tilting their head to indicate that they wanted to hear whatever else it is he wanted to say.

_”Ah... I can see now. Those who turn against the King are doomed as soon as they raise their weapon. Do not call me a traitor... Simply call me a fool. I know you will not flee. Wherever you go... I will be watching.”_

Xero dissolved into Essence, flying towards the Dream Nail. They watched on, pausing to turn Xero’s words over in their head. They weren’t really sure what most of what he’d said meant, but they were able to draw a few conclusions. 

Those who raise a weapon to the king are called ‘traitors’ and are forced to fade away, but they might become dream-bugs.

And if they can find other dream-bugs, they could fight them, and they would give up the Essence they hold.


	5. Ghost of a Dream, Ghost of a Memory (The Weeping Town)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longer I stare at the world “help” the less like a word it feels. Is it just the italics? The capitalization? I cannot tell. Bleh. It’s making me feel mad tho.
> 
> Real quick, my computer broke, but inspiration waits for no one so I'm struggling to write and edit on mobile. If there are mistakes that's why. I should be getting a new laptop in a month or so, and will be going over and fixing any mistakes then. Sorry if the quality is worse than I reckon it is.

They come and go. They cannot understand why or how.

That bit of SOUL-tainted VOID, tiny shadow, little ghost. They wander with a growing sense of curiosity, a sense of self, through the broken streets and crumbling halls of a dead kingdom. They fight off those overtaken by _Her_ , and speak with whitish smudges of SOUL.

Though they made not a sound, they felt pain, fear, and later, joy; it should have been impossible. They were not meant to feel things, those that did were cast off, rejected, left to rot. How could this one have escaped, and come out of the memory-eating wastes beyond the kingdom?

They do not know. But they observe all this, disoriented from so many conflicting angles, through the eyes of many. Through orange-tinted vision, they see them, cutting through those under _Her_ control. 

It burns, _She_ burns, a deep-rooted, orange ache that encrusts their body and throbs through their mind. Too-hot and flickering, too much to bear to the point of numbness, only to ebb and ache and blister anew. It swells from their chest and bleeds through their eyes, blinding them.

All this pain, all this pain they couldn’t hold inside, it marks them as I M P U R E; imperfect, unsuitable for the role they were chained too, bound too, born too. It is all their fault that _Her_ orange blight has retaken the dead and the dying of Hallownest, it is their fault that more are falling to _Her_ influence again.

(Their fault, their fault, father would be so disappointed in them, but they must try to keep _Her_ at bay, they must, they must—no one else can hold _Her_ , no one else even knows, none know the truth, all who might are dead or dreaming or fled, fled so far away—)

They are weakening. They know this; even with all their strength, the idea of protecting what little is left of this decaying kingdom, of making their father proud, still taints them. Fills them up with something more for _Her_ to poison, but they cannot help it; they cannot remain purely hollow. 

And so they raise what little power they have, and _**scream**_ , an echo of a thought of a memory, crying out to _them_ (no voice to cry suffering), to the VOID-cloaked SOUL that came out of the wastes...

**_Hhh.... heeh...elppp... hee... elp... help... help! Help me! HELP ME! I CANnoTDo IT! HELP! Heeelpp mee....k-kin...help...._ **

* * *

They cannot remember how they got here, but now, here they are; descending further into the depths of Hallownest, they find themselves in a grandiose city of shining metal and gleaming glass and crystalline drops that fall continueously, endlessly from above. Those few lumaflies that remain tucked away in glass globes offer some dim light through the endless fall of droplets, throwing the light strangely on all reflective surfaces all over the city. 

As they go, fighting off the odd orange-eyed bug and learning to dodge the nails they swung, they come across Quirrel once again. He seemed happy to see them, and spoke of the City beyond the window; how it seemed to be built into a massive cavern, of the water that came down endlessly, and how there must be some massive source of it somewhere up above. How he felt both drawn to the city and yet found himself hesitant. 

They didn’t quite know how to respond, something nibbling and wriggling creeping into them as they gazed out at the falling liquid. It made them think of the acid pools of Greenpath and the Fungal Wastes. But they couldn’t deny that... that it was drawing them in all the same. There was... something about it. It was so... pretty. 

After resting for a time on the bench beside Quirrel, they left, climbing down the massive, ornate tower until they had hit the ground level. After some meandering around, trying to locate some shop that some signs were pointing towards, without success, they followed quite the different sign. 

It truly was an unusual sign, as it was shaped from a nail, and had more nails drawn all over it. Curious, they kept going, leaping across gaps in the pathway and fighting off guard husks and vengeflies. 

However, as they went along, an unexpected blow knocked them into the pools of dark liquid below. Panic gripped them as they flailed for a hold, anything, to stop them from falling in. They splashed into the cool water, braced for a burning pain that didn’t arrive.

They dipped below, and then their mask bobbed back up to the surface. They glanced from side to side, finding their false cloaks billowing around them, obscuring their dark body, but they couldn’t feel any pain; they were unharmed. And as the panic faded, they were able to put the pieces together. 

The cool tears of the city caused them no harm as they walked around, merely slid cooly over their mask and nail and false cloak, harmless, if wet and cold. It was nothing like the acidic pools they’d encountered before. They shuddered briefly at the thought of _acidic tears_ falling in Greenpath, and felt a sense of gratitude that that wasn’t real.

Experimentally, they flailed their limbs, splashing forwards, then twisted around and splashed the other way. A warm, buoyant feeling rose in their chest as they splashed around, which surprised them, but it was a pleasant feeling. All of it, the pool, the splashing about, the warm uplifting feeling in their carapace. They didn't want it to end, but the tug of exploration drew them out soon enough. Onwards they went... and if they jumped into some more pools as they travelled, well, who cares? It was...(fun) nice.

Soon enough, they came to the Nailsmith; he spoke without looking at them, speaking of leaving their nail at the door... an idea they didn’t like at all, but it became quickly apparent to the Nailsmith that they were not the company they usually kept.

The Nailsmith made comment of the Nail they held, how worn and dull it was, another strike away from breaking. He offered to repair it, for a price, of course.

They looked over their nail, gaze trailing over the cracks, the dull edge that made cutting through opponents more like swinging a hammer. Their mind flickered with the memory of Quirrel’s nail, the blade gleaming, the edge sharp. That must be how nail’s were supposed to look...

They looked up, and nodded, passing over their nail, as well as the requested Geo. Not unlike Sly, the Nailmaster counted through the Geo before pocketing it, moving to take their nail. 

They stood back, watching in fascination as he Nailsmith heated their nail until it glowed red, then slammed a hammer against it. Reshaping it, and then sticking it in water to dull the glow back to normal. After, the Nailsmith ran the edge of the blade over with some sort of spinning wheel made of rock, sharpening it to deadliness. Then, he wiped got down with a cloth, wetted with something, checking the edge and grip with a careful eye. 

After, he presented it back to them, telling them to run along and test the strength of their nail. The Nailsmith mentioned something about pale ore being capable of strengthening the blade even further, but made no further comment when they looked to him in askance.

Heading back out into the mourning city, they tested the might of their blade, and found that it had indeed grown stronger than before. It took far fewer swings to take out the bugs and enemies that stood in their path. 

Satisfied and pleased, their thoughts turned towards finding this ‘pale ore’ in order to help make their nail even stronger. 

* * *

They found their way to the city center, where a set of statues lay; a large figure surrounded by three smaller—the Dreamers?!—with some plaque along the bottom telling their story...

As they approached the statues, the Red-Dressed Bug appeared, swinging down on her silken threads. She began to speak,

"Again we meet little ghost."

...! Again she calls them 'Ghost'. Is this their name? They listen closely as she continues,

"I'm normally quite perceptive. You I underestimated, though I've since guessed the truth. You've seen beyond this kingdom's bounds. Yours is resilience born of two voids. It's no surprise then you've managed to reach the heart of this world. In so doing, you shall know the sacrifice that keeps it standing.

"If, knowing that truth, you'd still attempt a role in Hallownest's perpetuation, seek the Grave in Ash and the mark it would grant to one like you."

Two voids? Sacrifice? And what did she mean by a 'grave in ash' and 'the mark'? Was the Grave... alive? It didn't sound alive...

But they had no chance to find a way to ask these questions, the Red-Dressed Bug left as swiftly as she'd come. Throwing her needle before her, she swung away on the silken thread, further and higher into the city.

She left them with much to think about... and another lead to pursue. If they were to hazard a guess, then the Red-Dressed Bug may he near the Grave in Ash, whatever or wherever it was. Maybe they could gain some answers from her, then...

* * *

Even without the words, they'd known something was wrong. From those first bugs, husks, in the Forgotten Crossroads, they'd known something was wrong. Nevermind the swaying gait or purposeful steps, the empty look in their eyes and orange ichor that sprung from them when struck was indication enough. But it was until Zote the Mighty mentioned something to them when they saw him in the City of Tears—"Have you seen them? The guards who still patrol this city, even after dying? Hmph. Being overly devoted to one's duties is no virtue."— that the pieces fell into place.

It wasn’t much, in retrospect, just a passing remark about the guard husks still having a strong imprint of their original task. But it had been more than enough to get the gears turning and spinning at a rapid pace.

The orange clinging to bugs eyes, that they spat or sprayed or shook off in great clouds at them as they fought was already registered as _pain_ and _bad_ in their mind. Having the majority of these bugs attack them, these husks attack them had further solidified the connection that orange equaled danger, equaled a creature that would attack them, often mindlessly.

But to finally realize that these husks, the guards and nail-less others they’d encountered had once... had a story, had a name, could have once been aware enough to tell them... it ached, deep in their carapace. Ached in a way they couldn’t explain, a pulse and throb that hurt, like a wound nestled deep inside them.

A heavy rock spontaneously grew in their insides, directly correlating the second, sudden realization that they had long ago ceased to think of the more common of their enemies as anything more than the SOUL they could garner from them and the Geo they took from their corpses. 

For once an enemy failed to be a challenge, they were either obstacles to get past or be avoided, Geo they could use to gather more items, or SOUL to heal themselves or fight their enemies.

This feeling, this heavy feeling in them... it didn’t feel good. They, did not feel good. They felt... bad. Awful, in fact. They felt awful, about the way they had been thinking of these once-were-named bugs, faded and forced to continue living. And not as a memory-dream, but as themselves, mindlessly moving and acting in some broken semblance of themselves.

Guilt. 

They felt guilty for their actions.

But at the same time... they knew there was nothing they could do. They couldn’t simply avoid killing certain enemies, as so many blocked their path. Nor was it wise to stop garnering SOUL from the husks, either. But they didn’t have to equate them to little more than what they took from them.

There wasn’t much else they could do, except try to stop this growing infection, if there was a way to stop it. 

Is this what the Red-Dressed Bug had meant? Hornet, the Hunter’s Journal had deemed her? When she spoke of a terrible thing awakening in the kingdom, of smelling it in the air... the orange infection that forced bugs to wake and walk after fading, that now seemed to have retaken all parts of the kingdom? All that they had traversed, anyhow...

They had to find her. They had to find some way to tell her, to tell Hornet that they wanted nothing more than to help. They didn’t like this, this orange plague, and would do absolutely everything in their power to try and help stop it. 

Another silent promise made, heavier than all those that they had made before. One that they would do their utmost to keep, no matter the cost. 


	6. Forgotten (Knight, Kin, Castle) Wings, Unknown Station

The Waterways below the Weeping Town were long and dark, full of strange creatures cacalled Flukemon. Their bodies, split in half, came separately alive and would try to attack them. It was terrifying, and tedious. Other bugs, tiny in appearance, would puff up to enormous size when struck, hurting them and, annoyingly, causing their fellows to puff up as they bumped into one another.

As they traveled, they saw signs pointing towards a bench, but while patches of ground rattled and threatened to give, no amount of leaping would break it open.

Pressing onwards, they began to hear someone yelling and making a ruckus, his voice echoing through the damp tunnels. It didn't sound distressed, but they started looking for the bug anyway, curiosity swelling and leading the way. Which lead them climbing up, up, up, only to drop back down. Something they noticed was there was more and more brownish gunk everywhere, squishy and sticking to them. It was unpleasant, to say the least, but they should be able to wash it off later.

Said gunk crowded the room the yelling came from, rolled into huge mounds. The bug within, bearing red armor and blue clawed forelimbs and face, attacked them as soon as they entered, letting out a battle cry and beating his armor. But he did not seem to be infected with the orange blight. Nor did he even seem entirely hostile. He laughed and shouted jovially during the fight, darting around in the brownish gunk, using it to form weapons against them. 

In the end, they didn't need to kill him to end the fight. A particularly strong blow whilst he was rolling and bouncing off the walls sent him flying across the room, out of reach. It also knocked a charm from his person, which they scooped up and placed in their inventory to examine later. 

They carried onwards, pausing to examine a large switch attached to a clear pipe. Striking it, the green glow of acid filled the pipe, but it otherwise did nothing that they could perceive. They moved on, and soon found a large tunnel, seemingly bug-made, that lead down further than anywhere they'd managed to reach before in the kingdom. Curious, they jumped below, and barely dodged the spikes set into the wood of some old wooden supports. Taking more caution this time, they continued, dropping further and further down until the bulk of the rock and kingdom above weighed on their shoulders. The air was almost... difficult to take in, but it was more an issue of their perception, they quickly realized, rather than anything actually in the air that prevented them from breathing normally.

In time they encountered a strange device... a metal platform, a box with a sign not for geo or stag station or bench, but for a... they didn't even know what. 

They pressed on, noting the strangeness of the walls and floors. A lifeless palor decorated everything, something once purely white stained by darkness until it was a grayish caricature of its former glory. Strange creatures wandered about as well, black-bodied but orange eyed. They left them alone for the most part, but they were harmed warm touching the strange creatures. 

In time they came to a door, guarded by a strange seal. They could not get past. A tablet beside were inscribed with words,

_"Higher beings, these words are for you alone._

_"Our pure Vessel has ascended._ _Beyond lies only the refuse and regret of its creation._

_"We shall enter that place no longer."_

...so beyond lay the remnants of the Vessels creation? Is that where... the vessel was born? They needed to know more. A silent promise hung over the door, as they turned and journeyed onwards.

Pressing on, navigating down and around, past Mawlurks that spit burning orange acid at them blindly. But before long, they found the faded body of a similar-looking bug. Their mask was cracked, their horns curling gracefully to one side. Their head was split open. Orange globs and bubbles of infection ringed the far reaches of the room.

Then, the strange, plague-claimed lifeseeds--no, _light_ seeds swarmed the room. They slashed and hacked, the lightseeds scurried and scuttled towards the similar looking bug, scrambling into their broken mask. They couldn't keep back the tide of infection, and before long a mass of pulsing orange flesh bulged from the others' skull and it rose, movements jerky and head bowed with the weight of the infection blob. Their eyes gleamed orange, a fury wild and mindless in their gaze.

With a roar, the infected bug lunged with their nail, and they darted away, parrying the blow. 

The fight was vicious and difficult, but by the time darkness hovered at the edges of their vision, their foe fell.

Drream-whels spun over the fallen bugs head. Struck with the dream nail, the bug was called not "broken vessel" but instead "lost kin"... the names, the _titles_ flickered before settling... 

So this was a 'vessel'... one of many, it seemed... but kin? They knew what that was... it meant a bug that was related to you or someone else. Eggs of the same clutch. But the emotional ties were... more difficult to comprehend and internalize.

Then why did they feel guilt? This one, this vessel, their... their kin was already faded when they showed up. They felt... like they should have done more, but they couldn't impede the tide of lightseeds, nor stop whatever had killed them to begin with... 

Well... maybe they could... help them to rest properly? They were now a dream warrior... maybe by defeating them, they could let them sleep properly.

However, they themselves were still injured, and didn't feel up to the task.

_I'll come back, and put you to rest. I promise._

They laid their hand on their kin's mask, bowing their head, the words refusing to leave their throat.

Chest heavy, they left, head turning to trail on the limp form of the faded vessel. 

Beyond the chamber of their broken kin, they found several... small flittering, glowing bugs, hovering about some statue or monument. They swiped with their sword, to no effect, but when they jumped...

The small flitters converged, and they felt a twinge and uncomfortable pressure on their back.

Ethereal white wings, an extension of themselves, rustling softly, twitching and strange beneath their cloaks. They twisted their head to look at them, slowly moving their new appendages into view.

White and glowing softly, a contrast to their dark body. The wings felt strange, but they were attached to them now. A part of their body.

Curious, they jumped, and their wings flared, allowing them to leap again in midair. Their wings were too weak to allow them to hover or fly, but after some practise, being able to boost themselves in midair, which was useful all on its own.

Maybe one day, they could figure out how to fly. Despite their wounds, a warm, energetic feeling rose in their carapace. Excitement, happiness, anticipation of this potential ability...

* * *

In their searching afterwards, they found the broken remains of a once mighty building. The faded body of a strange bug, dark-bodied and bound in reflective white armor, sat hunched by the gate. They tried to strike this strange knight with their dreamnail, but a strange white barrier surrounded the knight. 

Too exhausted to investigate the mystery further, they huffed silently and tottered towards the far end of the cavern.

Their, they found a stag station. Struggling to remain on their feet, they offered up the appropriate geo to the greedy metal box and rang the bell.

The Last Stag came barreling down the stagways, skidding to a halt. He looked around in surprise, noting that he hadn't known this station existed, until the echo of the bell chimed through the tunnels. 

Then, he realized the injured state of his single passenger. Black ichor leaked from them in clouds, their breath coming with difficulty.

"Little one... are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

They weren't sure how to respond, and wearily pulled out their map of Dirtmouth, pointing to the name.

The Last Stag rumbled unhappily, insisting, "Nod your head up and down for yes, shake it side to side for no. Are you alright?"

They paised again, the map put away in their inventory. No, they...they really weren't okay right now. They needed a bench, or a hot spring. Slowly, they shook their head as indicated, but the careful motion still made them slightly dizzy. The nonverbal communication was interesting to learn, and a relief... they didn't need a voice to be understood. Were there other movements they could do, to signal their intent? 

The Last Stag interrupted their train of thought, chuffing loudly to regain their attention. "Clinb aboard. I'll get you to Dirtmouth as fast as I can muster." He promised, worry in his voice, his eyes.

They obliged, tucking into the padded seat gratefully. And off they went.


	7. Vessels Bound From Birth, Taken in as the Kin of Another (Let Them Love, and Be Loved)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative titles: Flaming Fiery Temptations/Sword Father Adopts Sword Child and Fire Grandchild, more at eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed, there's a couple more inspirations from other stories listed here now! Each story held elements that intrigued me greatly, or otherwise got me so hyped for the fandom that I got huge bursts of creative energy that pushed me to write more of my own story. So shout-out to these wonderful creators, and everyone who has kudoed or commented! Thanks guys!

Above Greenpath and beyond Dirtmouth stretched the Howling Cliffs; the winds tugged and tore at the rock, their cloaks, open air existing beyond the rocky roof overhead. It felt strange... they had thought they may remember some of their surroundings. They knew they had to have traveled through this area to reach Dirtmouth, but everything was new. They didn't know this place. It was as foreign as City of Tears or Greenpath had been.

Pushing against the wind, they latched onto the corpse of a long-faded bug. Striking them with the dream nail brooked more questions than answers-- _...No king... No mind... Release..._ \--but it seemed that bugs who persisted beyond the Howling Cliffs lost themselves. Their name, their memories... this must have been what happened to them. This place beyond the Kingdoms bounds' were the reason why they couldn't remember anything. 

How long had they wandered... and who had they been before? Questions they didn't have the answers for... but they knew people who had the answers they sought. Hornet. The Dreamers. These four bugs knew them, they had to. They had to find them. They had to figure out a way to ask the questions they had. They had to know. They wanted a name to be called by.

For a time, they'd thought that 'little one' or 'little shadow' might be their name, but far too many bugs had spoken it without familiarity. These were titles, like that of Zote who seemed himself 'the Mighty', or 'Nailmaster Sheo', wherein Nailmaster was a title shared by many more. Horent had twice called them 'ghost', but they weren't sure whether this was but another title... they'd wracked up so many, too many to keep track of...

Shaking these thoughts from their head, they refocused and moved on. The wind pushed at their back, encouraging them to return to Hallownest... encouraging them to return where they belonged. 

They could do nothing but obey. (Something in their shell, itch-ache-tug, pulling them back [home] to Hallownest; push to their back and pull of their chest, without and within sensations)

Journeying on, they searched the area high and low. In time they found a Dream Root. Dodging Vengeflies and Tiktik's, they collected the red Essence. Their wings flapped and flared, unsteady in the cold wind, but they managed well enough. They only fell a few times as they scoured the cliffside, looking for a way up, or tunnels that went through.

Along the way, they found Cornifer, who perked up when he realized he had a familiar visitor. With little prompting on their part he began to speak,

"Enjoying the bracing air? We're quite close to Hallownest's borders and those desolate plains that surround it. In this direction, I'm about as far as I'm willing to go, though it's been a pleasant change from the tight confines of the caverns. I've drawn out a small map for the area. It's a simple one and more for completion really. Not knowing the full extents of a region can be quite frustrating."

After a moment, they nodded, which seemed to pleasantly surprise the mapmaker.

"Oho! So you share similiar sentiments, little one?"

They nodded again; they wanted to explore everywhere, every nook and cranny they could possibly find. They wanted to dig up the secrets of this Kingdom, find every road and hall, every forgotten village or lost artefact. 

Cornifer smiled at them, "You'll be in need of map then," the mapmaker fell silent as they pulled out geo and thrust it at them, surprised themselves at their eagerness. Cornifer chuckled and plucked just a few Geo from their hands, pressing a map into their grasp.

"I chanced upon a strange bug atop these cliffs." He explains, immediately gaining their attention, "His house isn't far from here. A very imposing figure he was and no doubt lethal with a Nail. I suspect you two might share more in common than him and I."

They hesitated; they loved to explore like Cornifer seemed too, but they couldn't deny that they were proficient with a nail. But they weren't sure if they wanted to fight someone, especially if they weren't claimed by the infection... then, they remembered something. Sheo's thoughts had lied within his brothers... one living far at the edge of the world... the other on the upper peaks. Could this bug Cornifer had seen been one of Sheo's brothers...?

Carrying on, they in tine found something... strange. Blue butterfly-shaped flowers, indicative of Lifeseed cocoons, winding down and down past spikes into a tunnel in the side of the cliffs. Instead of Lifeseeds, they found a bug laid out on a smooth stone slab. They noticed something by her side... a charm? They picked it up, examining it more closely.

A glow; they looked up, startled, and there was the bug on the stone. A dream warrior. They took a step back, hand on their nail, but she spoke cheerfully to them,

_"Ahhh, I see you bear my blessing. I can't remember giving it, but my memory has been a little lacking of late. Isn't it just so peaceful here? Such a perfect place to rest."_

They paused, head tilting ever so slightly. They checked their inventory briefly; the charm was called "Joni's Blessing". So... this dream bug must be Joni. And by the sound of it, Joni had lost her memories out here as well. But it gave them a spot of hope. Maybe they too could begin to remember themselves. 

They bid a silent goodbye to Joni and moved on. 

In time, they found a faded bug outside a small tunnel. Their last thought had been "strong"... moving carefully, they proceeded down the tunnel, and found a house. Within was a bench, and a hallway leading even deeper within. They took a seat, healing what scrapes they'd picked up and solidifying a safe spot, before heading down the hallway...

Within was a bug they initially mistook for Sheo... they held the same build, the same face, even the same _clothes_... but he lacked a paint-stained garment, and there were no painting supplies anywhere in the room. But if it wasn't Sheo... could it be one of Sheo's brothers? They hadn't realized that siblings were so identical to one another... 

"Hm? Ah, well met! Yes, I thought I could sense the aura of a fierce warrior approaching."

They started and looked up; the bug was staring directly at them, and made a small gesture; beckoning them closer. Hesitant, they stepped closer, but it didn't seem like they were going to be attacked.

Sheo's brother continued,

"I'm impressed you found my sanctuary here at the top of the world. No doubt you've endured many trials and overcome many foes in your quest to find me. No, don't speak a word--" not like they could if they wanted too, "--I, Nailmaster Mato, who was taught the Art of the Nail by the Great Nailsage himself, hereby accept you as my pupil! Let us begin the lesson immediately!"

So this was Mato! They nodded, drawing out their nail immediately. The Nailmaster got to work, but instead of walking them through the motions like Sheo had, he moved straight into a demonstration, then turned to them expectantly. They clumsily tried to copy, frustration mounting as they failed to do so well, spinning out of control. Mato halted them from trying a second time, sighing in exasperation, but he was smiling slightly. 

He walked them through it, this time, and after a few more tries and some shared blows--"Parry, parry, sidestep, lunge! Good work my young pupil!"--they finally mastered the Nail Art.

Mayo beamed at them, exclaiming, "Your form... exquisite! Now I know how my own master felt when he passed down his teachings to us. I hope you don't think me too forward when I say that I consider you to be my child. Yes! When I saw you perform my Nail Art I felt a bond between us suddenly flash into existence!

"You honour me beyond words, my pupil...  
Thank you."

He took a seat, settling himself for a rest, but they didn't join him, or move to leave. They were confused by his words. Mato... thought of them as... their child? One of a clutch he'd made? Or... he felt as though they were one of his? From his wording... though they weren't related by blood... Mato thought of them as though they were related in such a way. As though they were his... 

They found that they didn't mind, in fact, they welcomed the sudden, newfound kin, chest filling with a warm bright feeling. Overtaken by some strange urge, they bounded over to Mato and curled into his side, nuzzling their mask into his cloaks.

The Nailmaster started, looking down at them, then let out a warm chuckle. A weight settled on them as Mato wrapped his arm around them.

"You are welcome in my home anytime, my pupil."

They nodded, nuzzling further into the fabric. It was warm, curled up against Mato's side. They felt safe, here... safe enough to sleep...

* * *

Traversing the Howling Cliffs after their stay with Nailmaster Mato, they came across something.... quite peculiar. 

A large bug, long-faded, dressed in very strange and foreign clothes. They'd never seen anything like it, not even in the Resting Grounds amongst the dream warriors, many of whom seemed to come from far away from Hallownest. They tried to use the dream nail, but there was nothing. No thoughts, no dream warrior. Ah well... by now they knew that not every faded bug left a dream warrior behind, let alone their thoughts. However, as they moved to leave, they noticed something... bizarre. 

A great brazier, wrought from some dark reflective metal, reaching upwards like a massive clawed hand, with hot coals trapped beneath... this had not been here a few minutes ago... they were sure of it! Uncertain, they jumped and flapped their way to the brazier, peeking inside... there was nothing, but gripping it was difficult; the interior was coated in something slick and oily. But it was clearly meant to be lit... so how to do it?

They had to think about it a moment, but then inspiration struck. They hurried outside, cutting free bunches of plants, gathered it up in their arms, and went back to the brazier/torch, settling on the ground as they worked. Taking a longer piece, they tied it about a small bundle of plant stems, then took another long bit and bound it haphazardly to the end of their Nail. Might fall off but... it was the best idea they had.

They moved to light the end of their makeshift torch. It caught aflame, and immediately they were mesmerised. The fire was... wrong, somehow. They weren't sure how, but they knew fire wasnt meant to be this color. Crimson red, it glowed deep and soft, beyond that of ordinary fire, it felt... like a dream and their Shade all in one. Fuzzy and not-quite-there, more intense... but that intensity was full of panic, fear and anxiety, and often pain as they fell to an unknown foe or deadly hazard in their path.

They hesitated, uncertain, but curiosity swelled and so, they jumped back up and lit the brazier, thrusting the burning hodgepodge within. Dragging their nail along the edge ensured that none of the burning material stuck, nor were the flames hot enough to turn their nail red-hot.

Unexpectedly, red-hued flames caught in black metal lanterns that ringed the corners of the room, casting shadows wildly across the room as the main fire blazed into a roaring, raging inferno. The walls and ceiling shook, dust and small rocks fell from above, and they covered their head with their arms and nail, panic choking them until after endless moments, everything fell still.

They carefully looked around; the room was intact. The red fire still burned, but not as intensely or furiously. Still rather shaken from their ordeal, they left, retracing forgotten steps until they had found their way back to a familiar ledge. Their first real memory. 

They remembered this; the lumafly lights on their poles behind, worn path below their feet, the ground dropping out just a breath from their claws. They knew Dirtmouth lay somewhere beyond... if they focused hard enough, their immediate surroundings fell to shadow, and the hazy blue lights of the town came into view, houses gentle slopes across the ground. 

Deep red marred the browns and blues, something strange having taken up residence beside the town.

Their focus snapped back to their immediate surroundings, concern and panic rankling at them alongside guilt; without a second thought they jumped, falling, falling, falling, down, and down into Kings' Pass. Their wings flared at the last moment, a futile attempt to ease the jolt of the landing, but they quickly recovered and tore through the pass, racing for Dirtmouth.

Had the tremors of the earth made a hole near or in the town, allowing some new threat to pour through and attack the townsfolk?

 _My fault my fault_ , their thoughts echoed, jumping down into the town, looking for any holes, any enemies, nail at the ready in their hands. _All my fault._

They didn't find any holes anywhere. Buildings made of soft cloth had taken up residence outside the town proper. Two bugs with strange, identical masks were lain outside the larger of two entrances, presumably standing guard. They walked past uneasily, and went to speak with each of the townsfolk in turn. Sly and Iselda didn't seem overly concerned, but Elderbug was quite upset. He claimed to sense that something was off with their new "guests".

Finally deciding to investigate, they briefly rested on the town bench, pulling some charms free and replacing them with new ones. Hand on their nail, they entered the larger of the cloth structures...

Some strange, but compelling noise was coming from a device in a bugs hands, his clothing and mask similiar to that of the faded bug they'd found in the Howling Cliffs... were they kin?

They walked up to him, and the bug tilted their mask down at them, speaking deep but soft, " _Mrmm._ You called us? Speak to Master." He gestured for them to walk deeper into the cloth structure... but they hesitated.

Had... lighting the brazier called them? Another thing... what was he holding? They swiped the dream nail over him, learning his name was Brumm. His thoughts echoed,

 _"When flame burns bright inside one's mind_  
_Kin heed the call 'cross lands and time."_

It sounded... oddly like a song. It rhymed, and told some of a story... so... was Brumm and the others here... kin? It seemed the most likely explanation.

The bug stared down at them, and seemed to frown when they pointed at what he was holding.

" _Mrrm_. Speak to Master." He seemed confused when they shook their head, and pointed more insistently at the object in his hands. "...my accordion?"

They perked up. Accordion? Is that what it was? They nodded, but Brumm scowled at them.

"You may not have it, little summoner."

They shook their head violently; they didn't want it. But now they were stumped... how to ask what it did? They mimicked the movements of Brumms hands, head tilted to the side; most bugs took a head tilt to mean they were asking a question. They then pointed at Brumm, who seemed to catch on.

"Mrrm. So you wish to learn to make music with me?"

They hesitated, nodded, then shook their head no. Not quite... what they wanted. 

Brumm frowned again. "So you do not want to be a musician?"

They tilted their head; musician?

Brumm heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "Mrrm. Later. Speak to Master." He insisted.

This time, they obeyed, deciding they could try and ask more later.

At the end of the cloth hall was a large space, the floor circular with walls rising up in tiers and layers, garbed in thick shadow. Appearing at its center in a puff of red smoke and fire was... the Master?

He was tall, with a curved dark head and long, curled black cloaks that were red inside, his face white with two stripes of darker shade, eyes glowing red. Yet they sensed no malice, no infection, nothing that put them on edge. Oddly enough... they felt safe here, with the Master.

He turned to face them, and smiled just slightly,

"So, it was you who called us." He took a moment to look them over, and they felt that the Master saw more than just their mask and cloak and nail. He saw their wings, and Shade and mind...

That smile widened, warm and welcoming, crimson eyes aglow with approval and acceptance. "Well met, my friend. Well met. I am Grimm, master of this troupe.

"The lantern has been lit, and your summons heeded. A fine stage you choose, this kingdom fallowed by worm and root, perfect earth upon which our Ritual shall take place.

"And you, my friend. Your own part is far from over. As the lantern flared your role was cast, our contract written in scarlet fire."

What did Grimm mean? Contract? Summons? One thing was for certain... lighting the lantern had summoned Grimm and his fellows. A silent call across... who knew how far the distance?

"Eager we are to see you commence, but first, some illumination is required." 

He swept his arm out wide, body thin and lithe beneath his cloaks. The motion drew their eyes, but it was more theatrical than anything. Grimm continued,

"Across these lands my kin now spread, harvesting that essence peculiar to my... breed, the flame in dream. Seek my kin; claim their flame and return it to me. Together, marvels shall be achieved.

"But don't fret small one. For this task you won't travel alone. My child shall guide you to the flame and gather within itself that burning essence.

"Like you, the child plays key role in this task. Only with it by your side will the flame, and my kin, reveal themselves to you."

Before they could even begin to try and protest, Grimm opened his arms fully, and out fluttered from his cloak a small, mewling copy of himself. Tiny body, a thin tendril of wing to either side, a similarity in face but those eyes were dark, the body grey and black without a hint of crimson. 

The tiny thing nuzzled against them, mewling softly, and they wrapped their arms around it, lightly running their fingers over its head. They remembered Mato doing similar as they'd drifted off the day before... the gesture kind and comforting. But they were confused. Why was Grimm entrusting them with their child? Hallownest was... it wasn't safe for a young grub!

Seemingly sensing their growing distress, Grimm kneeled before them, lightly caressing the top of their mask. "You are stronger than you realize, little one. I trust that you can protect the child, and yourself, whatever you wind up facing on your journey.

"Here," he took a charm from his cloaks, and gently fixed it to theirs, removing a charm from its notch in order to do so. "This will ensure the child can find you, should the two of you ever become separated. They are depending on you now. I know you'll keep them safe."

They nodded after a moment, holding Grimm's Child tighter. They would keep the little one safe. They promised, silently, that they would.

Grimm nodded, and stood, his smile softening as his child nuzzled them. Without another word, he disappeared in a puff of red smoke.

They left, after a moments' wait, and headed back towards the bench. They took a seat, and after a moment of squirming, the child ceased its struggling and mewling, cuddled contentedly at their side. They ran their fingers over their head and back, mindful of the child's wings. Their own twitched slightly at their back.

They weren't sure how to explain it, but... they felt responsible for the child now. They felt... like they were kin. They... they (loved) worried for their safety now, for the child. They wanted them to be happy and unharmed. They... felt it deep in their shell, deep in their heart. It was... love.

 _I will keep you safe. I don't know why I've been entrusted with you, but I'll keep you safe... little Spark._ The child stirred and looked up at them, mewling. Watchful, knowing. _I love you, child, and I'll keep you safe, my little one._

_I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh this took me ages but its finally done! I wasnt sure exactly how our little Knight would interpret everything, since I the player know things happen "because game logic".
> 
> Also I randomly named the Grimmchild, because why not? They need a real name! Yes!
> 
> Probably should've mentioned way sooner but I have been including game dialogue and mixing it with my own freshly written dialogue. Just to avoid (too much) confusion.
> 
> Enjoy! Kudos are hugs and comments are love! Love helps me write more chapters!


	8. Softly Spoken, Gently Dreamed (Crimson Flames and Shadowed Screams)

Speaking, they found, was very difficult. Most of the time, Spark could hear them, but the child didn't respond all the time, either. With their throat and mouth unable to make any kind of sound, they had found that they could speak with their mind. Which wasn't too surprising... bugs spoke silently in their heads all the time, another being had called out to them silently, urging them out of the Wastes, and the Grimm Troupe had been summoned by a silent cry from the lantern. However, they had noticed that Spark responded to the words in their mind, out of everyone else they'd met. 

They had considered briefly that the charm was to blame, but even when removed it Spark could still hear them. (They didn't like removing the charm...)

As they hunted down the crimson flames with Spark, they practiced their speaking. Mostly by rambling on to the child about all manner of things, from their journey to the bugs they hoped to run across again. They told of their speculations about The Hollow Knight, the Pure Vessel, the Broken Vessel... all the little things that hinted at them being kin. They spoke of Hornet, and their struggles in tracking her down, seeking the knowledge she had. Their certainty that she knew who they were before they lost their memories...

They talked of other things, telling stories to their child. They spoke of the Nailmasters, of Mato who took them in as kin, and how the child too could be his kin now. They told them of the boisterously loud bug in the Royal Waterways, of the mournful beauty of the City of Tears, the kindness of the duty bound Last Stag. They talked about Quirrel, who they felt a kinship with as well, as they both had lost memories and loved to explore this vast, decaying kingdom.

As they traveled, they did their best to protect their child, their fierceness in battle doubling twofold, their caution increasing thrice when around stronger foes. They would not let their Little Spark come to harm. That was simply not an option. Though Spark could fly out of the way of most dangers, and did so especially when their guardian drew near the husks, they found themselves fighting with a ferocity they hadn't known they had before. They weren't sure what to make of it... but they supposed being a guardian to someone younger and weaker than oneself was the cause. They didn't want Spark to be harmed... 

As they wandered through Hallownest, they in timed bumped into Tiso in the Stag Station of the Forgotten Crossroads. A warrior from somewhere far away, he had come to Hallownest seeking a challenge worthy of a fighter like himself. Or that was their understanding, at least.

The warrior bug began to say something when they stopped to greet him, something about not needing to use other beasts to get around, but he cut himself off mid-sentence. He was staring at their back...

"What?" He reached for them, behind them, grabbing at their wings, pulling them open until they were flared wide. Tiso continued, in apparent disbelief, "Since when have you...?"

They protested silently, the motion hurt, the angle unnatural and uncomfortable to maintain. However, they twisted their head to look, as well... they were curious, admittedly, about what their wings looked like; it was tricky, trying to twist around to get a good look at them, and they wouldn't grab and grasp at them to twist their wings into view... might as well take advantage now, with someone else doing the tugging.

Their wings shone with a soft white, three small triangles overlapping on their right side, and presumably, on their left as well. They were too big to fit beneath their false cloaks, even when at rest, often trailing or touching the ground as they scurried about.

Tiso's other hand wandered, lightly touching over the wings, closer to the center of their back, and he scoffed when they winced and jerked slightly in his hold. The flesh there felt rubbed raw... it was about where they kept their nail... was that why?

"You're lucky you haven't cut your wings off. Only an idiot like you carries their nail by such delicate limbs." Tiso huffed, releasing them.

They bristled slightly, but they couldn't easily deny Tiso's words. It wasn't good that their nail kept scraping up against their wings, but if they kept it by their waist it would scrape on the ground. Nor could they always carry it in claw. There was no good answer or solution...

Tiso eyed them, thoughtful despite his clear disdain, and finally huffed sharply, gesturing for them to draw their nail, "Here, let me show you how to at least wrap the damn thing. What you need is a proper sheathe if you're going to keep your nail by your wings... but there are other ways to prevent such a stupid kind of injur.

They perked up, nodding, and drew their nail, always eager to learn something new...

* * *

After his impromptu lesson on proper weapon management, Tiso sat down for a moment--just a moment mind you--and watched in disbelief as the weak little thing sat beside him on the bench! 

_Fearless... or just plain ignorant? Can they not tell that I am not one you should underestimate?_ Tiso huffed softly as the silent things head tipped forward, likely falling into a doze. _Should put them out of their misery now; they made it through these old roadways, but whatever lies beyond here will no doubt be far more difficult. And they're stupid enough to not know how to manage their weapon properly... though, when I saw them before, they didn't have wings at all... how peculiar._

The tiny grub mewled and curled up beside the strange masked bug, nuzzling beneath their cloaks. The silent bug jerked upright, wrapped an arm around the grub, arm shadow-dark, and promptly drifted off again.

It was time to go. Tiso didn't want to share a bench with them any longer. He rose, checking his shield and briefly readjusting his hood. He cast them a final glance, but paused, a fleeting thought running through his head.

What was one so small, doing with a child? The mewling grub, so different in appearance to the fearfully silent weakling. It couldn't be theirs... could it? Tiso had met the silent one in the town that perched above the ruins, and they were alone. No child, no sign they were carrying--gender was an impossible thing to discern--no sign of a partner. Could they have picked it up from the town? Empty as it was, maybe a family or two lingered further within... he hadn't stayed long enough to sightsee, afterall. There could have been others there...

An inkling of doubt breached his mind... even with the battlehungry nature of his home, there was an unspoken rule; protect the grubs. The children were spared until they were old enough to learn to fight, until they could protect themselves. The mewling babe was hardly old enough to fly on its tiny wings, let alone fight back against a potential grubthief. Then again, if the fearful bug was truly this grubs parent, what kind of parent were they, bringing the grub into so dangerous a place?

Tiso growled softly, his indecision finally reaching a tipping point. 

He'd take the grub back, and then continue on his way. The babe was a few years old he'd guess, a toddler really; not recently hatched. No possible relation to the small bug. Tiso reached for the grub, easily prying them from the small bugs limp hold. But no sooner had they done this when the child wailed, fighting to free themselves. 

Tiso didn't even have a chance to shush them when the small bug started awake. They stared up at Tiso, then lunged at them, making a wild grab for the child.

**_Give me back my child!_ **

Tiso winced at the desperate cry, the words echoing in his mind. What in the...?

_Give them back! Spark! Give me back Spark!!_

The voice was clearer, more easily understood this time around. Tiso blinked at the small bug, stunned, as the words entered their mind. Moreso, it was the voice of a child... 

"Is... the child yours?" Tiso asked haltingly. 

The small one paused, then nodded hurriedly. He handed the grub back, who cried into their shoulder. They held them tight, rubbing their hand over the grubs head, silently soothing them. 

"Is their name Spark?" Tiso asks, and their head shot up, empty sockets staring into them, mask expressionless... yet Tiso got a sense of shock, then excitement from them as they nodded rapidly. 

_...hear me?_

Tiso nodded; the words were quiet but he could hear them, echoing in his head. "Yes... what manner of trick is this?"

They paused, shrugged, bouncing on their feet.

 _...no voice, cannot speak, but can like this. Silent speech. Thought only the child could hear._ They paused, then they bounced even more, wings fluttering in tiny spurts. _Very happy, to know others can hear. Very happy._

Tiso just stared at them, wondering what manner of nonsense this was...

The silent one ceased their bouncing, still hugging the small grub, tilting their head at Tiso, questioning. _Why did you try to take Spark?_

"I... thought you may have stolen the child." Tiso admitted.

The silent bug shook their head, clutching the child tighter. _No, never. Entrusted. I don't want Spark hurt, but their father needed help. Help the child grow. Seeking the red flames._

Tiso wasn't entirely sure what to make of this nonsense, but slowly nodded anyway. "How are you speaking to me?" 

The silent bug paused, considering, then shrugged slightly. _I don't know. Bugs can speak in their minds, and I cannot speak outside mine. I have been trying, to speak in my head... tried and tried. Spark hears, sometimes. And now you can too!_ they seemed very pleased and happy with that fact.

Tiso scowled softly down at them, but he was honestly perplexed by now. He'd never heard of bugs that were able to share thoughts with one another... was this tiny thing reading his thoughts right now? _Stop it! Get out of my head! Now!_

The tiny thing just tilted its head at him again, coming off as oddly perplexed. _Can you still hear me?_ they asked, sounding upset and disappointed.

Tiso felt his expression soften, more confused than anything else. "Yes, I can... can you not hear my thoughts?" 

They shook their head no. _No. Not without using the Dream Nail. Others can speak silently, I believe... but I have not found them yet. None except Spark's father Grimm... I think he can speak silently. Said I called them..._ they trailed off, musing on something.

Tiso huffed. "Don't read my mind. Now be off with you. I don't have time for any more of your nonsense."

They looked back up at him, startled, but nodded, gathering the child, Spark, to them. They waved goodbye, and made their way to the Stag Station, ringing the bell.

Tiso huffed, too much on his mind after so strange an interaction, and left the station. He tried to remain focused on his own task, and put the silent bugs silent words out of his head...

* * *

When they had the chance, they took some old cloth and bound their nail in it. This kept it from scraping against their wings, but, it made it more difficult to draw their nail and fight back. So, they eventually abandoned the cloth... though now they worried about accidentally cutting off their wings, as Tiso had warned. It was a nerve wracking thought, but they weren't sure what else to do...

They simply dealt with it, for now, that slight agitation in their back, as they searched Hallownest for the flamebearers. Fighting them one by one, and watching in awe as little Spark soaked up the red flames. Each time, each victory, lead to the child growing warmer and warmer in their arms...

When returning to the Grimm Troupe, they watched on in further awe as Grimm performed some trick of magic, and Spark grew bigger, and stronger than before! His wings a little bigger, beginning to resemble his father more, longer and stronger. They were asked to continue searching for the crimson flames, to help the child grow even more...

With a resolute nod, they continued on, down in to the depths of Hallownest... seeking the crimson flames, and the answers to their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii!!! Sorry that it's been so long, things got busy... my old laptop broke, and even after getting a new one things have been pretty busy. But! I am trying to get back into the swing of writing this story! Sorry the ending is kinda rushed, and the whole thing is kinda short, but I wanted to get at least something out before christmas. Happy early holidays!
> 
> Also, I have other chapters that are half-written and half-completed; I got a rough outline of how this is going to go, but I still have to write large portions of it. Hopefully that'll help me get more chapters out.


End file.
